The Collector of Dying Breaths

Chapter 31

Jac was not sure exactly what happened on the walk back to the castle. The terrain was rocky and slippery. The path steep. It had begun to rain again, and each of them was manipulating an umbrella. There was no amiable talk since the silk shades enclosed each of them in their own cocoon-like space.

Bruge led the way. Serge followed. Then Melinoe. Jac at the rear. The sound of the rain beat a steady, loud pattern on the umbrellas, so at first she wasn’t even sure she heard anything out of the ordinary. Trees limbs were bending in the wind; leaves and bits of debris were blowing.

Then a sudden movement alerted her. Jac glanced over in time to see a gust pull Bruge’s umbrella away from him just as a tree branch fell, hitting him.

He let out a shout-a mixture of pain and surprise-as he dropped to the muddy ground.

Serge was beside him in seconds. As Jac approached, Melinoe pulled her back. Her hand trembled where she touched Jac’s arm. “Let Serge see to him. He has first aid experience,” she said. “We should call for an ambulance. Hold the umbrella over me,” Melinoe said as she fumbled to get her cell phone out of her bag. She punched in the emergency number. Listened. “Damn,” she said. “There’s no signal. I’ll stay here in case Serge needs help. You can get back to the house faster than I can in these shoes. Call from there-the landlines must be working. Call for help and then ask our driver to bring the car down as close as he can get and then to come with you back here.”

In the downpour, Jac ran as fast as she could, slipping and falling several times on the narrow, rocky path. Finally she reached the gardens and then the house. The phone was working, and she called for help.

Then she did as Melinoe asked and got the limousine driver to get them as close as he could to the woods. After that they took off by foot. Finally they reached the spot where Jac had left everyone.

Melinoe was holding an umbrella over herself and Serge, who was holding his over the collector’s inert body.

“How is he?” Jac asked.

Serge looked up, his expression saying everything.

“No!” Jac looked down at Bruge. It was inconceivable to Jac that he was gone. This man had just asked Melinoe for more time, for immortality, for youth. How could he have died in the minutes it took her to get back to the house and call for help?

The next four hours stretched on interminably. The ambulance and medics came and took Bruge’s body. Police arrived and questioned all three of them, taking long statements about what had happened. Finally, at nine that night, the police said they were free to go.

The chauffeur drove them back to the airport, but the storm prevented the plane for taking off for another two hours.

Finally, at eleven o’clock, they were airborne. Exhausted and saddened, Jac sat looking out of the window, watching the night sky. She couldn’t stop thinking of how Chester Bruge had been talking about wanting more time just moments before all the time he was ever going to have was extinguished.

The irony of it disturbed Jac. The coincidence of it seemed impossible.

Once again she heard the familiar refrain of Malachai’s voice telling her there were no coincidences. It was what he always said to convince her that past-life memories were real. But this coincidence had nothing to do with regressions and ancient karma. Something else had happened in the rain. Jac just wasn’t sure what.

She slept fitfully that night and was glad when morning came and she could finally get out of bed. The sun was shining brightly as she made her way down to the dining room at seven thirty. Serge was already there.

He had eggs on his plate but was just pushing them around. She was surprised she was hungry enough to eat.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” she asked him. “To be so moved by his death. We didn’t even know him and yet we’re mourning him.”

“It was a terrible thing.” Serge’s face was pale. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. His hand shook as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

“For you most of all,” Jac said.

His head jerked up. “Why me most of all?”

“You were the one who tried to save him,” she said and watched him visibly relax. “Serge, you can’t blame yourself for his death.”

His eyes, Jac thought, looked haunted.

“I can. It was my fault,” he whispered in a tortured voice.

“You did absolutely everything you could,” Melinoe said as she walked into the room.

This morning she was wearing a deep-ruby velvet tunic with black leggings, and her fingers and wrists were covered with sparkling stones of the same color. Her lipstick matched too. The teardrops that hung from her ears were also blood red. Despite the perfect clothes and jewels, she looked exhausted and somewhat distraught. She put her hands on Serge’s shoulder.

“Nothing was your fault,” Melinoe said, her fingers digging into his skin.

She must be hurting him, Jac thought.

Serge twisted around in his seat to look at his stepsister, and Jac saw the most painful expression of need on his face. He was waiting for Melinoe to absolve him. For her to take away his grief. But could anyone ever do that for someone else? Would anyone ever be able to do that for her?